


As the Ice Takes Its Leave

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-05
Updated: 2007-06-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Who'd have thought that an early morning workout could lead to such interesting possibilities? Skating, Kismet, and would Malcolm please RELAX already?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Warnings: Slash, mild swears, AU  
  
For: jenniferlupin  


* * *

Malcolm leaned far into his left outside edge, letting the brisk air caress his bare arms and cool the sweat from his skin as he moved across the ice. It was the worst of summer now, the days hot and humid, and he found the chill of the rink a welcome relief from his unairconditioned flat, erm... apartment. God, over half his life in this bloody country, and he still couldn't... He switched to an inside edge, letting it flow, then started stroking down ice, keeping his movements fast, powerful and smooth as he truly began his workout. 

He hadn't been able to sleep, the heat and humidity oppressive despite his fan and the fact that he'd, in the end, slept nude out of sheer desperation, so he'd got up early this morning and headed here; he raised his head, lifting his arms and opening them wide before him, as if stepping onto a stage and greeting an audience. Then he turned and began a series of backward progressives down ice, to the left, to the right, dark hair blown forward across his face as he sped out of the light and into the darkness at the far end of the rink.

He'd stepped onto the ice well before the rink itself was officially open, and the only light in the large space came through the glass of the exterior doors. It cast the middle of the rink into brightness, leaving the rest in shadow, but he didn't mind - he knew this rink, and this ice, well enough to skate it blindfolded. Well, nearly. In winter, it really was too dark in the mornings to do this, but now? Summertime in New York, the sun rose early enough for him to skate in the peace and quiet of the closed rink, lights off, the place empty but for him, the only sounds his own breath and the soft susurrations of his blades as they cut into the ice below him. 

Coming up ice again, he did a sequence of quick turns, back to front, reversing direction with each. He worked through a series of exercises, the types of things he taught his own students to do, focusing on edging and flow as he sped around the oval. He spent so much time coaching that it was a rare pleasure to be able to skate this way himself, and on an empty rink as well, so he let himself go, trying not to think too much about each movement, instead letting his body lead him through the elements. 

He'd been skating for a while - he wasn't sure how long - when his blade caught in a rut and he felt a twinge in his lower back. Hissing out a breath, he let himself glide, hands on his hips, feeling himself out. It paid to be careful. It was his back, after all, which had ended his skating career, and he was no longer as young as he'd once been. He was thirty-six now - not particularly old in the real world, but ancient by skating standards - and thirty years' of skating, a good number of those at the elite level, had certainly taken its toll. Between his knees, his feet and the state of his back, he was surprised that he could still get out of bed most mornings, never mind be up and gliding across the ice. 

The lights came on around him with a snap and whoosh, and he raised a hand in greeting when a woman shouted, "Hey, Malcolm!" from beyond the clear barriers that enclosed the rink and protected spectators from errant hockey pucks. She added a sly, "You look hot!"

He skated to an opening in the boards, ice flying from his blades as he stopped. "Hoshi," he answered as she approached, meeting her smile with one of his own. He wasn't normally a very "smiley" person, but with Hoshi, he simply couldn't help it; she'd cracked through his reserved faÃ§ade years ago. He'd known her since he'd moved to New York, and he'd watched her grow from a shy, embarrassed teenage skater to a mature coach and skating school manager. Beautiful, with a great sense of humour, she was, to him, the perfect woman. If he wasn't gay, he'd date her. Actually, if she wasn't married to his best friend, he'd probably date her anyway. It had been so long since his last relationship, he was seriously considering changing his orientation to "bisexual" simply to improve his odds. 

Pushing her long, dark, straight hair back from her face, she peered at him from under raised brows. "Nice outfit," she said, with a bit of a mock leer.

Malcolm felt himself blushing in response, and he glanced down at what he was wearing. Black skates, form-fitting black trousers, and a tight black short sleeved shirt, he knew he looked more like he was ready to go clubbing than work out, but he liked these clothes, they were comfortable, and, most importantly early on a Saturday morning, they had been clean. 

"I'm surprised to still see you here," she said, her voice holding only a hint of the Japanese she'd grown up speaking. 

He cast a glance to the large clock on the scoreboard and then wiped his brow. "It's only half past eight. I still have..." 

He cut himself off at her look of surprise. 

"It's nine fifteen, Malcolm." She said this matter-of-factly, but he could see the grin she was holding back rising in her dark eyes. "And it's *Saturday*. Today's the first day of 'Learn to Skate'. Any minute now, hordes of parents and tots will be..." She burst out laughing when he responded by skating backwards quickly, eyes wide, hands raised in defence before he turned and sped to the other exit. Stopping in a shower of ice, he practically burst off the ice, grabbing his bag as he ran for the locker room, Hoshi's merry laughter driving him on. 

It wasn't that he didn't like the "Learn to Skate" crowd; or wouldn't, had he ever met any of them. After all, how bad could it be? Fifty to a hundred or so kids, ages three and up, wobbling about on the ice, crying when they fell, accompanied by their parents, the occasional grandparent, and various and sundry rowdy siblings. He'd never been here when they'd arrived, and that was by design, but he was sure he'd like them fine. If he'd met any. Which he most certainly had not. He heard tiny, childish voices ring out behind him, and he winced, only relaxing when the locker room door shut firmly behind him. 

He stood with the door to his back, the scent of hockey players lingering in the air as he quickly scanned the empty room. He caught his reflection in the full length mirror facing him on the far wall, and the person staring back at him raised an eyebrow wryly. Maybe Hoshi was right. He wouldn't call himself "hot" - the very idea - but with his fair skin, dark hair, and blue grey eyes, plus his outfit showing off the slim, athletic build he'd managed to keep despite doing less skating now than in his youth, even he had to admit he did look good for his age. 

Hearing the shouts of children from beyond the door, he strode to a bench and sat, bag beside him, and reached down to untie his skates. He heard a woman's loud voice, her New York accent distinctive despite the door between them, then a young girl, probably no more than five, answering back with that same strong inflection as they moved past. He couldn't help it - despite himself, he smiled.

Admittedly, some kids were cute. He'd coached young ones; probably the youngest of his students had been aged ten, but children were usually fairly experienced and mature by the time he worked with them. Most students had several years in before they began ice dance at all, and then some years after that before they reached the higher levels he normally taught. His more beginner students were actually all adults, so admittedly, he had little-to-no experience with teaching the youngest kids. That wasn't something that he was planning to change. He liked the way his coaching career was developing. He liked being here in New York. He finally felt... his hands stilled their movements as he thought about it. He felt right. It had taken a while, but he finally felt like he was on the right track.

When his body had broken down, forcing him to retire from elite level dance, he'd drifted. He'd started university, then quit when he realised that wasn't a good fit. He'd dated a series of men, none of them seriously, going from one to another as he'd moved from city to city. He'd done some work as a coach in Michigan, then in Texas, finally ending up here in New York. For a long time, he'd felt... He pulled off his boot, blindly placing it beside him on the bench. Honestly, he'd been a bit lost. 

He bent to untie the other boot. He'd only been twenty-three when he'd retired from ice dance, and up until then, his entire life - all his experiences, every one of his friends - had been involved with skating. He'd planned to keep skating for years - the career of an ice dancer was often much longer than that of a singles skater, and his partner had been about his same age. They'd made the US Worlds Team, placed second at Nationals, and were ready to make a push for the gold that year, guaranteeing themselves placement on the Olympic Team.

Malcolm let his eyes fall shut, his hands stilling on his laces. The memories were still painful, even now. Mentally and physically, as evidenced by the scars on his back, which stood as stark evidence of his surgery. He sat up, boot in hand, and placed his other hand against his back, just over the scars. 

The door behind him opened, and he turned with a start. 

"Oh, sorry." A tall man stood in the doorway, young girl in hand, his large hand swallowing her own. "Can you tell me where the bathroom is?"

"What?" Malcolm said, dragging himself back to the present. 

"Bathroom?"

"Oh," Malcolm replied as he pointed. "Next door down."

The man smiled and it lit his eyes. Malcolm felt them hit him solidly. Green eyes, sandy hair, the man was probably at least fifteen years older than he, but he had an athletic build and a charm about him that came through immediately.

The man and his daughter had already left before Malcolm realised that he should probably have returned the smile. Man likely thought him a complete git. Placing his skate on the bench beside the other, he padded over to the door in stockinged feet, catching it just before it closed. He saw the man, small blonde girl in tow, opening the door to the bathroom. The man glanced up just as she entered, and gave a soft smile when he saw Malcolm staring after them. 

Damn, Malcolm thought as the door closed behind them. Too bad, really. Young child usually meant parent usually meant married, or at least straight. Malcolm chuckled. Of course, this was New York and one never did know, but still...

Malcolm returned to the bench and slid into his shoes. He'd shower and change at home, so there was no need to bother with that. Instead, he tossed a light shirt over his outfit and ran a hand through his hair in order to make himself slightly more presentable. Packing away his things, he grabbed his bag and was out of the locker room in time to see a swarm of kids, parents and teachers out on the ice. Before he'd even realised, his eyes searched out and found the man from earlier. He and his daughter were in a group class with other young kids at the beginner level. The girl was probably no more than four, and... Malcolm raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. Her dad was in hockey skates. Of course. It was the American male standard. If one must be on the ice, one must be in hockey skates or one was not a manly man. Never mind the fact that most men were unskilled enough that the skates, which curved at the back, could actually be dangerous. At least in figure skates, they would be less likely to roll over backwards. But this man seemed all right on them. He'd probably skated some as a youngster. He could certainly do the basics. 

Malcolm watched as the man bent down, hands out, and egged the girl on. She simply stood there. After a moment, she bit her glove tentatively. Malcolm couldn't help but smile. 

It really was too bad that the man was probably straight and married. He was just the kind of person that Malcolm might go for now. A bit older than he'd dated in the past, but that likely meant he was also considerably more established and stable, and Malcolm felt he could use that in his life. He'd spent enough time skipping from man to man, never staying for long enough to let anyone get close. Maybe it was time he grew the fuck up. 

Hoshi came up beside him and, eyes on the scene on the ice, bumped him with her shoulder. "He's cute."

Malcolm felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he blushed. He'd no idea he was being so transparent. "He's kind of old," he said, sotto voce. He kept his eyes on the man.

"Nah," Hoshi replied, matching his tone. "He's fit. Older, but hot, you know? Is that his daughter?"

"I think so."

Hoshi leaned in close. "You should ask if he's available and, you know, interested."

"Nah," Malcolm replied with a shake of his head. 

"Want me to ask?"

Malcolm turned to face his friend. Raising a brow archly, he said, "I think your husband might have something to say about that."

Hoshi hit him on the arm. "I'd be asking for you, dummy." She smirked. "Doubt Trip would be interested in that sort of thing."

Malcolm laughed, shaking his head. "I'm too busy. I'm coaching three elite teams now, and between all the training time and travel, I've not left myself enough time to get my washing done, never mind date someone."

Hoshi's sad smile told him that she knew that wasn't the real reason, but she was letting him get away with it. "Well, you're here now," she said with finality. "Are you free tonight? Because I wanted to invite you to dinner with me and Trip, and a few other people." Seeing he was about to protest, she pressed on. "We hardly ever see you. Come. We'd love to have you there."

Malcolm had almost said no. But what was his alternative? He could stay home, be alone and mope, or go to this dinner, be around people, and have a good time with Trip and Hoshi. So he put on his best, most charming smile and said, almost meaning it, "I'd love to."

Little did he know what Hoshi had in store for him. 

x-x

Malcolm stepped up onto Trip and Hoshi's porch, the sinking sun setting the flowers in the windowboxes aglow in electric pinks, reds and purples. He let his fingers caress their soft petals as he passed. There were advantages to living in the suburbs, as Trip and Hoshi did. A house, rather than an apartment. A yard. A driveway. Trees. Flowers. Air that smelt of air, rather than exhaust. He wouldn't mind living out here someday himself. 

Moving the wine he'd brought to his other hand, he rang the bell. 

The door jangled, then opened to reveal Trip in all his glory: sandy hair in studied disarray, beer in one hand, plate in the other, he smiled broadly when he saw Malcolm in the doorway, only to look down as a small dog raced past his leg. "Shit, shit, could you..." he shoved the plate into Malcolm's free hand as he dashed past and grabbed the tiny mutt off the steps. He stalked past Malcolm, back through the door and up the staircase just inside, muttering something to the dog of which Malcolm only caught, "...supposed to be upstairs, you mangy..." 

Left where he was standing on the porch, bottle of wine in one hand and Trip's plate in the other, Malcolm stared after Trip's retreating back. He could hear the sound of voices from somewhere inside, so he shrugged and entered, shoving the door shut with his foot. 

Trip bounded back down the stairs. "Sorry, Malcolm," he said, his Florida accent soft, rounded by his years in New York. He accepted the plate with the hand holding the beer, then the wine with his free hand. "We're all out on the back deck. Beer's in the cooler, munchies on the table." Juggling wine and food, he nodded down the hallway with his head, blue eyes flashing gaily. "I'll be out in a minute." Turning, he entered the kitchen. 

Malcolm hesitated in the hallway. Okay, something was going on. Trip wasn't normally that giddy. 

He strode purposefully down the hall, toward the doorway leading onto the deck, and then... made a sharp right into the toilet, shutting the door firmly behind him. There was enough sunlight coming in the small window to let him see, so he didn't bother with the room lights. Peering at himself in the mirror, he ran the tap, using some of the water to tame his hair. Trip and Hoshi were definitely up to something. He could tell. He'd known them for long enough to know when they were scheming. He straightened his shirt and, taking a breath, he braced himself. Whatever it was that Trip and Hoshi were planning, better to face it now and get it over with. He pulled open the door and stepped out. 

And slammed straight into the man from the rink. 

The man took a quick step back, grabbing Malcolm by the arm to steady him. "Ah, Jesus. Sorry. You okay?" 

Malcolm's eyes went to the hand on his arm before he stared up into the man's green eyes. Of course. Hoshi had... damn her. 

The man smiled and released his grasp. "I didn't realise anyone was in there." 

"Yeah," Malcolm said, and could have kicked himself for being such a tongue-tied prat. 

The man cocked his head, brow wrinkling in slight puzzlement. "You look familiar. Have we met?" 

Malcolm rubbed his arm where the man had grabbed him. "At the rink, earlier."

"Oh, right," the man replied, eyes brightening. He held out a hand. "I'm Jon."

"Malcolm."

Jon shook his hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Malcolm," he said. He hesitated a moment, then nodded past Malcolm's shoulder and said, "Do you mind?"

"Oh, sorry. Right." Malcolm said hurriedly, dropping Jon's hand as he moved out of the way. 

As Jon went into the toilet, closing the door behind him, Malcolm leaned back against the wall for support. He shut his eyes. No wonder he couldn't find someone. If he couldn't even talk to the few men he did find attractive - 

Hoshi's voice came from in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. "Malcolm, you okay?" 

He opened his eyes and gave her a wry look. "You are such a bitch," he whispered, keeping his voice low so that the man in the room beyond wouldn't hear. 

"Yes, I am," Hoshi replied, matching his tone. "But I'm *your* bitch." She smiled. "And you're welcome."

He rolled his eyes at her and pushed away from the wall, intending to leave her there. Two strides down the hall she tugged at his arm and pulled him into the living room. "He didn't bring a date."

"That doesn't mean he's gay."

"No, but it probably means he's available." She looked up as Jon walked past the room, moving toward the deck. "So go," she said, using her hands to shoo him off. "Find out."

Malcolm stepped to the clear glass door that led onto the deck, taking a moment to get a feel for the situation. There were six other people at the party, most of them faces he'd seen at one rink or another, and he nodded to a few people in greeting. Jon was leaning on the railing, back to him as he looked out at the small lawn. The man had just the sort of athletic build that he liked - strong, broad shoulders, a tight waist, and he was tall - a good few inches taller than he himself was. Definitely not a skater's body. Besides Trip, who was an engineer, Jon was probably the only non-skater at the party. Knowing a conversational opening when he saw it, Malcolm slid open the screen and stepped outside. 

Trip caught his eye and smiled, indicating the man with a tilt of his beer. Malcolm sighed, knowing that if he didn't at least make the attempt, he'd get a never-ending rash of shit from both Trip and Hoshi. So once more into the breech, he snagged a bottle from the cooler by the doorway, twisted off its top, and took a fortifying pull as he approached Jon. 

"You seem to have survived the first day of class," he said as he slid in beside the man. 

Jon turned to him, a look of surprised pleasure on his face. "Well, I have to admit, it had been a while since I'd been on skates."

Malcolm nodded, taking a quick sip of his drink, the liquid cool on his tongue but already warming his cheeks. "Did you skate when you were young?" 

"Hockey's kind of compulsory upstate. Something about being so close to Canada..."

Malcolm laughed. 

"Yourself?" Jon asked, raising his eyebrows as he drank from his own bottle. 

Malcolm nodded. "I'm a coach now."

"I take it you're not from New York?" Jon asked, waving his bottle to indicate the area around them.

Malcolm's lip quirked as he said, "Not quite. England. Yourself?"

"Upstate," Jon said, brow wrinkling slightly. Then he added, pointedly, "New York."

"Ah, right," Malcolm said. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "You'd said as much. Sorry." Thank God the evening had cooled from the heat of the day. This conversation alone was making him sweat.

"No problem." Jon's eyes moved back to the area beyond the deck, and Malcolm leaned forward on the railing beside him, grateful to have a moment to compose himself. Hoshi and Trip really did have a nice garden. The patch of grass led down to a straggle of birch trees, just beyond which was a small brook. It was almost fully into twilight now, and the evening breeze was causing the leaves on the trees to sway, adding their gentle swish to the babble of the water, the clinks of glasses and soft sounds of conversation coming from behind him. He could almost picture deer nibbling the grass, or bunnies frolicking, or the like. It was almost ridiculously serene. 

"What brought you here?" Jon asked after a bit. 

"Skating," Malcolm said. "My partner brought me over -"

"Partner?" Jon asked, turning to face him. 

Malcolm looked up at the man from where he leaned on the railing. "My dance partner..." he paused, trying to say this right. "Ice dance. I moved here when I was sixteen, to skate with Rachel Stein."

Jon looked shocked. "You're Malcolm Reed."

Malcolm stood away from the railing. "I am."

"I remember you," Jon said, tapping his fingers against his bottle. "Saw you on TV or something, Nationals maybe. You were pretty good." 

"Thank you." Malcolm was surprised Jon knew of him. Most American men didn't even know what ice dance was, never mind actually know any of the key players. Although it had been an Olympic year, so more people were watching. Likely Jon's wife or girlfriend had watched, and had made him. 

"So, are you married?" Jon asked, taking a long drink from his beer and finishing off the bottle. 

Malcolm blinked at the non sequetor and the fact that the man was, apparently, a mind reader. "Sorry?" 

"Or, you know, with anyone?"

"Er... No," Malcolm finally said. 

Jon pinned him with his gaze, the twilight, if anything, making his eyes seem greener. He smiled slowly. "Good," he said. 

Malcolm felt his heart rise into his throat, and his hand tightened around the bottle. "Ah," he said after a moment.

Jon held up his empty beer. "Want another?"

Only then did Malcolm realise that his own was empty. "Please." He leaned back against the railing and let his eyes follow Jon as the man turned and walked to the cooler. He had to admit, for a fifty-or-whatever-year-old, the man had a nice... His gaze rose to find Hoshi standing in the doorway, a huge grin on her face. "Bitch," he mouthed. She stuck her tongue out at him, but before he could respond, Jon had stood and was back at his side, handing him a beer. 

Jon leaned against the railing beside him, watching Trip at the other end of the deck. Trip had pulled out the grill, and the smells of cooking food were already wafting over the party. 

Malcolm kept his eyes on Trip, because Jon... Jon was standing far too close beside him. He could feel the heat of the man radiating along his right side, and he took a grateful swig of the beer, glad to have something to do other than think about - 

He jumped when he felt Jon's hand brush against his forearm, fingers moving lightly against his bare skin. That felt good. Too good. That tiny touch pulsed up his arm, down his chest, and directly to his groin. His breath caught, and he tensed. There was something he needed to know before this went any further, before he... before they...

"Are you married, Jon?" he asked, voice coming out in a near whisper. Jon had a daughter, and it didn't matter how attractive he found the man, or how long it had been since he himself had last been in a relationship, there was no bloody way he was going to be the one who -

"No," Jon said from beside him, his voice quiet. "Never have been. You met my daughter earlier, Emily. She's my family." 

"Where is she?" Malcolm asked, knowing the question was a sort of a test. 

"Home with her moms."

Malcolm had to let that sink in for a beat. Then he turned to face Jon. "Moms?"

Jon hesitated, looking as if he was braced for whatever Malcolm's response would be to what he was about to say. "I helped a couple of lesbian friends have a baby."

"Oh," Malcolm said in a rush of breath. He smiled, feeling immeasurably relieved. "That's nice."

"It is, actually." Jon's face lit up in a huge grin. "Best thing I've ever done."

Malcolm's relief came out in a laugh. 

"What's so funny?"

"I'd figured you were married and straight."

Jon's fingers traced down Malcolm's arm, to his hand, and tangled with his own. "Turns out you were wrong on both counts." Jon squeezed his hand gently, then let it go, keeping his hand just beside Malcolm's. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

Malcolm's fingers tensed on the bottle, and he could actually feel his heart in his chest as he waited for - he wasn't sure what, but in his experience, anytime anyone started with "I want to ask you something", that "something" was of significance.

"I'm thinking about taking up ice dance," Jon said, deadpan. He turned his head in Malcolm's direction, his eyes cheerful. "I could use a coach." 

Malcolm tried to hold back a smile as he raised a meaningful brow. "You know I'm not cheap, right?" 

"I'd figured as much," Jon said, tone gone a bit sly. "So I'd need to make it worth your while."

Malcolm rubbed his index finger against other man's. "I might be willing to take some of it in trade." He took a swig from his bottle and then, lips pursed, he cast a pointed glance to Jon's feet. "You'd need to buy a real pair of skates first."

"What?" Jon asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "What's wrong with hockey skates?"

Ready to launch into an explanation, Malcolm turned his head and looked into Jon's eyes. He felt the man's gaze on him, through him, and realised that this... He took a deep breath, and he smiled. This, as with anything that was worth the effort, could take some time. 

x-x

The original request: Archer/Reed romance AU wherein Jon meets Malcolm in some other capacity than on the ship, a little angst getting together, but with happy fluffy ending (please, no mention of either of them with another person)


End file.
